


On Any Other Day

by Westgate (Harkpad)



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, M/M, dumb boys in love, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-03-30 20:54:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19035433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harkpad/pseuds/Westgate
Summary: The journalist asks an innocent question at an Avengers' press conference. Well, it would be innocent on any other day. Bucky realizes that he has to make the first move.





	On Any Other Day

It might have been an innocent question if it were any other day. Maybe. Today, though, it was not an innocent question, and the poor journalist who asked it didn’t attend another Avengers press conference for months.

“Which one of you is the better sniper, do you think?” he asked, probably falling for the media circus that caught the team being friends, hanging out at museums or restaurants together, laughing after a fight. And Clint and Bucky are friends. The journalist wouldn’t be wrong… on any other day.

On any other day, Clint probably would have given his easy grin and a quick shrug of his shoulders and said, “Depends on the weapon, really.”

And Bucky would’ve pushed his sweaty hair out of his eyes and said, “Yeah. We haven’t really tested it, and I know I can’t use a bow, so. We’re better than anyone else, that’s for sure, right Clint?”

And Clint would throw a thumbs-up and the conversation would be over.

On any other day.

**Earlier this morning:**

“Oh my god, you call that a legal move, Barton?” Bucky growls as he picks himself up off the mat and shakes out his metal arm. “That was dirty.”

Clint hops to his feet and bounces on his toes and waggles his eyebrows at Bucky. “Who you callin’ dirty?”

Bucky can’t help the snicker. Clint’s so fucking gorgeous when he’s fighting and then he gets goofy and Bucky’s emotions whiplash a little. “You’re a meatball,” he mutters, and gets back into his stance.

Before he can blink, Clint’s in his space, and some stupid circus move gets him over and  behind Bucky and sweeping his legs, and he grabs for Bucky’s metal arm with both hands as they go down to the mat. Clint’s leaning over him, sweat dripping down his cheek and his eyes focused on Bucky’s lips. When he runs his tongue over his own lips, Bucky’s mouth goes dry.

They’ve been dancing around this for a month. More than a month. Months, plural. Sparring and getting close. Ending up sprawled practically on top of each other on movie nights. Brushing elbows at dinner. Slinging arms around each other’s shoulders when they stumble a little drunk out of a dive bar. Literally dancing once, when Nat got way too bored and decided that the whole team needed to know at least four different “classy” dances.

But he can’t. He’s not ‘couple’ material, and Barton seems more like a one night stand guy anyway, and just, no. He has to work with him, for one thing, and the other is, well, they’re friends. Bucky’s not about to screw that up when he never thought he’d really have friends again when he pulled himself out of HYDRA’s conditioning and made his way back to Steve. Hell, he didn’t figure Steve would want him around, much less these jokers, no matter how fuckin’ pretty they are. So no.

Bucky rolls away and pulls himself to his feet.

Clint stands, too, and stares. And steps close. “Bucky,” he says, and Bucky may be old, and formerly brainwashed, and not exactly sure how the hell YouTube works, but he can see intent in Clint’s eyes, and his own body flushes, warm and buzzing with arousal.

Bucky steps back because goddammit, he can’t do this. He blinks and shakes his head. There’s no way Clint wants what he seems to want. Why the hell would he want Bucky?

Clint gets a sad look on his face now, and he steps back. “Okay. Whatever.” He turns and picks up his towel and water bottle with a wave. “See you ‘round, Barnes. Good thing your aim is true with a gun. Sure as hell is off mark with everything else.”

Clint leaves.

Bucky is alone on the mat and all he can think about is the way his body felt warm when Clint stepped close, the way his gut felt fluttery when Clint smiled at him, the way he feels lost as Clint storms out of the room and slams the door to the locker room behind him. “Fuck,” he mutters, and goes to clean up. 

While he’s in the shower, the Avengers alarm goes off.

**Now** :

Clint leans toward the microphone and Bucky’s stomach drops.

“Barnes is good,” Clint says, and he grins at the journalist, that easy, circus performer grin he pulls out for the press. “But I’m better. I’m . .  . “ he starts, and looks over at Bucky, “I’m more direct. My shots are simple. Easy. I don’t do anything fancy. I guess back in the old days they had to work a little harder at their shots. You know. Equipment wasn’t as good. He’ll catch up, though. If he wants to.”

Bucky blinks. The reporter looks to Bucky like he should respond, and fuck Steve for leaving him and Clint alone for this press conference. “Hawkeye’s wrong,” he says, and he’s not exactly sure what his brain is doing, but it’s gonna do it regardless, so.  “He’s direct, but the old days weren’t about working harder. They were about working smarter. You know,” he said, and he looked over at Clint, “Not getting ahead of things. Waiting for the right time.”

Clint folds his arms across his chest. He glares at Bucky. “In our line of work there is no right time. You have to take the shot when you have it. Yeah, we’ve got a good team. But we’re dealing with aliens and mad scientists and people with weapons we’ve never seen before. Waiting around for the perfect shot can mean you never get a shot at all. That’s the difference between us. I’m gonna take the shot. No matter what.”

Bucky swallows and the poor journalist sputters. “Well, I’m sure you’re both excellent at what you do,” he says.

Bucky stares Clint down. “Patience is a virtue,” he says, and what the hell, Barnes. Are you your mother? he thinks, and he closes his eyes for a moment. He’s all tied up in knots.

“Yeah,” Clint says, and now he sounds resigned, which is not what Bucky wants from Clint at all. “I’ve never been good at patience.”

The journalist looks between the two of them, and Bucky almost feels bad for the guy. Almost.

There’s an awkward silence, and the press coordinator thankfully steps in. “It’s been a long day, and perhaps we can get some more Avengers to participate next time,” she says, and ushers Clint and Bucky off the platform hastily, and Bucky watches as Clint storms off.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

Back at the Tower, he showers and cleans up, and then his feet take him to Clint’s apartment without really consulting Bucky. With a sigh, he knocks on Clint’s door.

When Clint pulls it open, it’s like the sparring session, the fight against the blue, spitting aliens, and the press conference all gang up on Bucky and push him forward. Clint’s standing there in purple sleep pants and a grey t-shirt, his hair damp from a shower. Bucky licks his lips, feels his body light up at the sight of Clint standing in the doorway, and that’s it. He’s done. He steps close. “I was crap at patience before HYDRA,” he says, and he leans in.

Clint smiles, his kaleidoscope eyes sparkling like fireworks, and he leans to meet Bucky.

Bucky kisses Clint, pressing their bodies close and running his tongue across Clint’s lips, those lips that have been teasing Bucky for months, drawing him in and making him throw caution to the wind. His body flushes with warmth, and Clint’s lips taste like peppermint and coffee.

When they pull back from the kiss, Clint presses his forehead to Bucky’s. “I don’t really know who the better sniper is. I just know that you’re my mark right now, and I never miss. Okay?”

Bucky isn’t sure he’s ever felt this warm, this right. “You got me, ace. You hit your mark.” He wraps his arms around Clint’s waist and presses another kiss to his lips.

Later, they agree to send that journalist a fruit basket.


End file.
